


Would You Like a Martini?

by Lotus_Dumplings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Acephobia, Acetalia, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Genderfluid Character, Nonbinary Character, Other, fuck yeah, i stan, transtalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 14:54:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotus_Dumplings/pseuds/Lotus_Dumplings
Summary: To say Lovino felt a little lost in the dating scene was a bit of an understatement. And, as usual, "a bit" meant "so fucking big their goddamn brain was frying at the thought".





	Would You Like a Martini?

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of acetalia and transtalia existing, I made this. Idk how it turn out but so well.

To say Lovino felt a little lost in the dating scene was a bit of an understatement. And, as usual, "a bit" meant "so fucking big their goddamn brain was frying at the thought". 

Still, that didn't seem to stop their brother from trying to hook them up with literally anything that just so happened to have opposable thumbs. Feliciano just couldn't seem to get the thought that they were "a bit" uncomfortable about all of this through his thick skull. He seemed to think they were desperate for a romantic relationship when they weren't, damnit! 

They just wanted someone to hold their hand and play with their hair and give them unsolicited hugs and listen to them vent and make them food and— that's exactly what a romantic relationship was, wasn't it?

Fuck. 

The worst part of it all had to be Feliciano's insistence on finding them someone into fashion. And while that seemed fine and dandy, with Lovino being a free-lance designer themself, a part of them felt like screaming. Was Feliciano blind? Fashion people—most of the time—were fucking hot (at least by their standards). There were a lot of hot fashion pricks who just wanted someone equally as hot to show off like a brand new PRADA bag. 

Lovino wanted nothing to do with that. And besides, while they were admittedly good looking and very presentable when they tried to be, it was questionable just how appealing they could be in their everyday life. It's just not sexy being covered in dirt, animal hair, coffee, drool, glitter, or all of the above. 

And even if their hypothetical love interest just so happened to miraculously find them attractive and get past the less pleasant parts of their personality—not that they were rude or anything. Some people just couldn't stand hearing the word "dick" get thrown out of their mouth so casually—they still had a few hurdles to cross. Namely, explaining that they, a middle-aged southern Italian, were not a man and not interested in sex. 

Well, not interested wasn't exactly the best way to put it, but their point still stood. They could practically hear the little explosions going off in someone's mind when they said that. They, a person who tended to lean more towards masculine clothing for the comfortability, weren't a man? They, a Sicilian Milanese of Roman descent, weren't interested in sex? 

How shocking. What were they, a paradox? Why, yes, thanks for noticing. 

Still, they couldn't help but feel their heart break and their hope shatter each time. They'd already had to deal with the confused questions and weird glances, or in the worst cases, the downright rejection, when they came out to their family. They really didn't feel like dealing with all of that again. 

Unfortunately for them, the general populous was mostly unaware people like them even existed, leaving them to try and justify their entire existence to some random person who didn't actually give two fucks. How did they know they weren't a man? Because they didn't feel like a fucking man, dumbass. What if they just hadn't found the right person? Unless the "right person" was the literal human personification of cannoli, they were pretty sure they could live just fine, thank you.

Sometimes the entire world just needed to fuck off. 

Lovino slumped down in a bar stool, digging in their purse for their wallet. This would've been a particularly nice time for that, they decided as they pulled out a card. Did they even have any money on that thing? 

Cursing, they scrambled for their phone and began to dial their bank number. Holy fucking mother of God were they having a bad day. First they spend all day dealing with ignorant assholes who pretend to know what fashion is, then their date up and left because "sex is a necessary part of every healthy relationship" or some shit, then they fucking broke a nail! 

Okay, so maybe that last one was "a bit" melodramatic, but they'd spent good money to get them done, dammit! 

They furrowed their brow as they began to punch the pin code into the dial. Could anything made this night worse? 

"Excuse me?" Welp, that just about did it. Lovino whip their head around furiously. "Can I buy you a dr—" 

They glared, letting out a grumbled, "Not interested." 

The stranger's hands shot up in surrender, though their lips upturned into an amused smile. "I wasn't saying I was interested in anything, either. You just look a bit angry, so I thought, why not buy a beautiful piece of art such as yourself a few drinks." 

They growled, fighting the urge to punch that stupid smile of their goddamn face. Was this person serious, or just really stubborn? "I said I'm not interested." 

"Not interested in what? A few free drinks?" Well fuck. Lovino looked into the other's deep blue eyes only to find sincerity. It ticked them off, but they weren't one to turn down free things. 

"Fine. But none of that flirting bullshit. Save it for someone who cares." 

"Oh?" A dark brow—definitely not the same shade as the owner's light blonde ponytail or their cleanly shaven stubble—raised in curiosity. "I didn't come here to flirt, so I think I can refrain." 

"Oh please. People go to the bar for two things: to drink or to fuck." 

"And who said I didn't come here to drink?" 

Lovino laughed bitterly. The universe must've really had it out for them. "I'm asexual," they said, bluntly, waiting for a reaction. 

The stranger blinked, but instead of asking what that meant or comparing them to some sort of bacteria, they settled into a bar seat and laughed. If it wasn't for their next words, Lovino probably would've gotten "a bit" pissed. "Well, that's already one thing we have in common!" 

Huh? Oh. _Oh._ Well... they weren't expecting that. 

Lovino stared, their previous anger dissolving into an almost pleasant shock. Finally they cleared their throat. "I… uh… I'm sorry for assuming."

"No, it's really not a problem! I can't really blame you. As you said, most people go to a bar to drink or to fuck." 

They couldn't stop themself from smiling at that. Well, they might as well try to right their wrong. Slowly, they offered up their hand for a shake. "I'm Lovino. And I, uh, use they pronouns by the way." 

"Nice to meet you! I'm Francis, and I feel more like a he kind of person today." Francis took their hand and beamed. "Would you like a martini?" 

Lovino hummed in though. Ah, fuck it. "Yeah. Yeah, I would." 

And that's how they woke up the next day with a mild hangover, a new appreciation for ballet, and a phone number with _Francis/Marianne_ written under it in sharp, delicate cursive.


End file.
